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Jul 2019 · 582
Dysphoria
Abigail Jul 2019
With each passing hour I grow more cynical
More accepting of my death
And more accepting of our synthetic world
How can I preserve the sweetest part of me?
My innocence?
I cannot

I’d cross seas
I’d battle warriors
I’d climb mountains
If I knew that there was hope for me
Hope for my soul, but
There is not

So I float
Hoping the waters at least take me painlessly  
Please drown me
Please leave me numb and unmoved
I submit myself to drowning
Maybe then and only then
My soul will rest
Sep 2018 · 295
My Mental Disorder & I
Abigail Sep 2018
My worry consumes me
My thoughts are scattered
Much like the trash in my messy room
My heart aches so terribly
I can feel the pain of it in my belly

The sharp pieces from my broken heart spill from my mouth
They cut the people I love wide open
They bleed out
Suddenly, I am sick of me

I wonder how I got this way
Was it the hand slipping under my shirt, unwelcomed?
Was it because of all the spoons with burnt backs?
Was it the visions of my mother’s swollen face?
I want to know what the **** it was that made me so hideous

Alas, I don’t have the answers
And while the weight of the world is not on my shoulders
It is certainly on my mind
It is certainly in my heart
And I pray that one day I might rest

— The End —